Jabberjay
by CheerLoveGale
Summary: "The Hunger Games are over." Famous last words. Maysilee Mellark is going into the first Hunger Games in fifteen years, the 76th Hunger Games. Will she have a chance of survival, or will her love for two tributes soften her? Will death of loved ones bring her down, or build her back up? Will the odds be in her favor? The world will be watching... kill or be killed. Not a one-shot!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Disclaimer- I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters! I think Suzanne Collins is a wonderful woman who created something that no one else could ever have dreamed of, and I look up to her as a role model for writing. **

**Enjoy my story, and it's set after Mockingjay! Katniss and Peeta are married with two children, Maysilee (Maysi) and Willard (Will). I hope y'all like it and please review! Constructive criticism is appreciated, as is compliments!**

Jabberjay

Chapter 1

"I always knew this would happen," my mother says quietly as we all sit in front of the television screen, watching as President Paylor announces that there will be a reaping at midnight.

"What's a reaping?" my little brother, Will, asks her. He struggles to pronounce the words through his four-year-old tongue that makes everything sound like gibberish.

My mother, who is seated next to him on the couch, picks him up onto her lap and tickles the underneath of his chin. "I'll tell you when you're older, Silly Willy." She kisses his nose and smiles at him. "I promise."

They've already told me. When I turned ten years old, there were murmurs at night. Things like, "Should we tell her?" "Will she be scared?" "Is she old enough?"

I guess eventually they decided that I was, in fact, old enough, because about a week later I was seated in the big fluffy-cushioned chair across from the couch, where my parents were seated, my father holding my mother's hand tightly as she visibly stressed over the matter of telling me.

"Maysi, we need to tell you something about our life. Please don't be scared, I just thought you should know since you asked," my father started for her, glancing over and seeing she was sweating bullets.

"I'll take it from here," my mother told him. "Maysi, when I was eleven, my father died and…" she trails off into silence, cut off by silent tears.

"Katniss, we don't have to do this," my father says quietly, looking her in the eyes. I was about this close to ripping my hair out at their ridiculous romance stuff when he says, "Maysi, this is more important to us than you could ever imagine. It's not just about us. It's about you, and the country, and our family. I know it doesn't sound interesting, but you need to know. You'll be introduced to your class soon as the daughter or the Mockingjay, and you need to know what that means."

I sat up straighter as curiosity crept into me. He smiled slightly, and looked at my mother. She nodded, and allowed my father to start over from where she left off. "Her father died in a mine explosion. Her mother went into a depression after her husband's death, leaving your aunt Prim and your mother to fend for themselves. They were all three starving to death, and it was only a week until your mother could take some tesserae, which is a year's supply of grain and oil in exchange for putting your name in the reaping one time for each tessera you bought."

He continued on and slowly my mother began to brighten up, cutting in to tell her version of the Games, and telling what went on while my father was being held prisoner by the Capital. Finally, their stories were over and I finally knew the reason for the screaming at night, the cries of fear, and the secrets they were so obviously keeping.

Afterwards, I remember having nightmares with them for at least a week before I finally listened to my mother's comforting words, whispering to me that I'd never have to be in the Hunger Games, and that I'd never have to go through what she did.

But that wasn't all that I was scared about. I was scared for her.

Now, there's a strong chance that her words could have been an unintentional lie. Though she knew nothing about the seventy-sixth Hunger Games back then, five years ago, she knows now. And there's nothing she can tell me to calm my mind down.

So I walk back up to my room and go to sleep early, hoping to miss the reaping on the television tonight. And I do fall asleep, but end up waking up when the television gets cranked up high, and a strange male voice I've never heard booms in my eardrums, "Maysilee Mellark."

I look at the clock. It's 1:00 a.m. Perfect timing for the last district's reaping. I about jump out of the bed in surprise when my mother shrieks not five seconds after my name is called, and is cut off by something, probably my father shushing her as he attempts not to wake me and Will. But it's too late. I already know I'm going in.

They rigged the reaping. Rigged it so that the daughter of two of the biggest rebels in Panem could get what they deserve. The Capital can kill me, but they know that it would kill my parents in a much more terrifying way, no matter how agonizingly painful my death is.

Somehow, I end up falling asleep again, and wake to the fragrance of cheese buns wafting upstairs into my room. I walk downstairs after dressing myself in a pair of cotton shorts that I wear in gym class and a plain white T-shirt. "Ooh, Game day food. Yum!" I say sarcastically as I sit down on a bar stool.

My mother, who has just walked in the room, drops her mug of hot chocolate on the hard tile of the kitchen floor. She sucks in a sharp gasp of air before speed walking out of the room. "Katniss!" my father calls after her, but she keeps going and doesn't stop, I suppose, since I hear footsteps continuing on and out the door.

My death hasn't even occurred yet and it's already happening. The complete and utter emptiness is already in her eyes, gray and hollow. Her body will continue to get skinnier and skinnier as she doesn't eat. I can already imagine her, sitting in front of the television screen, staring, though not seeing anything. Through her eyes, I am already dead. The Mockingjay, the symbol of the rebellion, is done singing. She is silent. Just like the ones in her Games before the hovercraft appeared. The girl on fire has been extinguished.

**A/N: OK, a bit of a cliff hanger there, but I hope y'all liked it! Reviews are appreciated! Constructive criticism is always welcome, so don't hesitate before pressing the send button! PM me, too! I love getting compliments and CC, so please review and message me if you like it! Watches and favorites are cool, too! Chapter two will be up soon, since it's summer break and I don't have anything else much to do, but if I for some reason don't post for a while at any time, please know that it's not intentional, just that I don't have the time to! :D Remember: "May the odds be ever in your favor!"**


	2. Chapter 2

~Chapter 2~

**A/N: Hey you guys! I am sooo sorry that I haven't updated in like, a month! I got my iPod (which is what I type my stories on) taken away for a week for doing something I wasn't supposed to do, and then my mom wouldn't let me or my brother and sister get on the computer because she didn't feel like getting up to type in the password (I got the right to know the password to the computer taken away over three years ago for making a facebook when I wasn't supposed to) so... yeah. Sorry I haven't updated, but trust me, I'm trying! And I'm also trying to space out Jabberjay from Come Morning Light, since Come Morning Light is my prequel to tho story. But y'all can review/PM on whether you want Come Morning Light to be finished first, or Jabberjay! Personally, I like Come Morning Light best. Anyway, so R&R and as always, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games nor any of the characters. I do own Lane Hawthorne, Willard Mellark, Maysilee Mellark, and some of the later characters, though I do not own the characters that created them. I am so thankful for my fans and everyone that supports me, but to my fans, don't thank me, thank the wonderful, extraordinary woman names Suzanne Collins who has inspired me to be creative! And also, visit kitkatkutie on ****! She has also inspired me to be creative. And Hannah Montana! Hannah has inspired me to follow my dreams since I was six years old! All these people are a large part of who I am, and I love them and you all out there reading this now! Enjoy!**

Lane. That's the name of the boy tribute from my district. Another person I'll have to kill in order to stay alive. And another distraction from the prize.

I think my mother must know him. How she knows a fifteen-year-old so well that it hurts her to speak of him, I don't know. But she knows him, that's for sure. I remember this morning...

"Maysilee, did you hear that you're-" my mother began. I cut her off.

"Yes, mom, I heard last night. I'm going in. Big whoop." And with that I rolled my eyes.

My mother exchanged glances with my father.

I stared at them until they finally noticed and broke their gaze.

"So, who's in with me?" I ask.

"Lane Hawthorne," my mother replied under her breath. She ducked her head and stared hard at the table, as if she was trying to concentrate on something very difficult to comprehend.

"Hmm..." I murmured, knowing not to get into with her when she was so obviously having her flashbacks again.

My mother gets flashbacks, glimpses of her past that scare her to death and upset her greatly.

I sort of feel sorry for her. Having to relive everything she's tried so hard to forget. But I guess it's just a part of life...

Anyway, Lane's father, I've seen him around, trading in the Hob. They rebuilt the Hob soon after all the citizens of District Twelve moved back. The people that used to run it that survived the bombing, such as Greasy Sae and old Ripper, went back to running it just as they used to, or so my mother tells me.

I've seen Lane with him, sometimes I've even seen the two of them slipping under the fence in the meadow to hunt.

My mother used to take me hunting when I was little. When I was probably about seven years old, my mother took me beyond the fence, that is no longer electrified, and into the woods that I can't imagine entering in her day. She must have been so scared, her first time going in without her father. I was, and she was right next to me.

She taught me how to shoot a bow, which I'm very good at, wonderful, really. But while I can shoot a bow as good as anyone I know, including my mother, the knife is my weapon.

My mother is okay with knives, but she only taught me a few of my skills. The majority of them came from myself. I would slit open the long branches hanging down from the smaller trees. I would do backflips and slit open a watermelon. The knife wasn't a skill that was forced. I was born to use the knife. My father tells me I might as well have been born with a knife in my hand.

I figure I have a small advantage over the other tributes, the underfed ones, since they have absolutely no real experience with these things, but the Careers are equal competition. Weapons are what I've used since I was born. Weapons are what they've been learning since they were born. They've been drooling, hoping for the chance to do this since they laid eyes on them history books. I have known that one day, this exact thing would happen. Right I was. We may be different, me and the Careers, but it's an equal competition here.

Let the ultimate showdown begin.

I'm on the train now. My mentor is Uncle Haymitch. He'a not really my uncle, just the closest thing I have to one. He was my parent's mentor both times they were in the Games. Maybe he'll have enough faith in me to help me out.

Lane seems to be the strong but silent type, so I haven't talked to him much. The only thing we've said is, "hi," and that was because Haymitch made us.

This morning, we will be arriving in the Capital. Already, the hills are becoming more and more common, and the air is getting cooler. I learned at school that the Capital was built in what used to be called the Appalachian Mountains.

My stomach growls. I don't feel like waiting for Haymitch to get up, and really He's probably just going to bed, so I head to the dining car. I order a platter of eggs, jelly toast, and mini sausages from a pale man dressed in plain white tunic and head back to my quarters. I sit in my bed and slowly eat the food, wiping the grease from the sausage on the sheets. If there's servants here to clean it up, I might as well take advantage of it.

Once I get to the Capital, I'm going to meet my stylist. Apparently, the fact that Katniss and Peeta Mellark's daughter has been chosen is getting the people in the Capital "super-pumped." Whatever that means.

President Paylor will be at the opening ceremonies tonight. She must have something wrong in her head, just like Snow did. Why in the world would you force twenty-four innocent children to fight to the death, leaving only one standing? It's not fair.

This is why there should be a new president elected every couple of years. These people get old, and they lose it! President Paylor is now fifty-five years old. She obviously isn't in the best shape to be ruling a country.

Carrying my plates, I walk back to the dining car, where the man is still standing. "Um, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with these," I tell him, gesturing to the plates.

"Maysi," I hear someone say behind me.

I turn to find Haymitch looking at me. "Hmm?"

"He's an Avox."

"What's that?" I ask stupidly. You'd think I'd have heard about Avoxes if they were such a big deal.

Haymitch walks over to where I am and takes the plates from my hands. "Will you please take these?" he asks the man. He nods in return and walks through a lit doorway.

"Haymitch, what's an Avox?" I ask again.

"An Avox is a traitor to the Capital. They captures him and cut his tongue so he can't talk," he explains.

A gasp escapes my lips. At first I'm speechless, but Haymitch is surprisingly very polite as he sits and waits for my response. Finally, I gather enough of my senses to speak. "But, Haymitch, why would they do something like that?"

Haymitch calmly answers. "Honey, it's like I said, he's a traitor, and so are all the others. They never release the crime they commit, they just take action."

I start to rise. "Well I've got to go apologize, then."

"No, Maysi. You can't. You're not supposed to talk to them, only to give them orders."

"Why not?" I ask. I feel terrible for that poor man, and I feel that I have to find some way to make it up to him.

"Because they'll punish him. Every word you say to him that isn't a direct order is a punishment for him."

"Oh," I whisper.

There's no time for any other exchanges before the windows go black and there's the feeling that we're riding over a bridge.

"Haymitch, where-" I begin.

"We're here," he whispers. His eyes are wider than I've ever seen them, and since they started laying back on selling alcohol in the districts, over the years Haymitch has gained more weight and actually looks like a normal person now. He only occasionally drinks, or at least that I'm aware of. But my mother still stocks a bottle or two under the counter and takes one to him sometimes.

I run to the window, and press my nose against the glass like a small child.

I can see a light ahead of us in the distance. We're most likely in the tunnel that leads up to the Capital. The light ahead of us is the bright, shining lights of the place I've only seen on television.

I begin mentally counting down the seconds until we reach the outside of the tunnel. When I get to three, I can hardly wait. Two, I'm bouncing on the seat. One, I feel like I'm about to explode. And then we're in the brightness again.

I gasp, and my mouth falls open at the beauty of this place. It's like that old movie that we watched in history class in second grade, The Wizard of Oz. This is like Emerald City, and I'm Dorothy, entering the beautiful unknown.

For a reason that I can't explain at first, I tense up. Then I get it. Finally. I get to see the place dreaded both now and then by so many people. The death field. The Capital.

**A/N: Hey again! Did y'all like it? Well, don't be retarded! Don't be saying it out loud where I can't hear you! Review, where I can see you! Well, technically, not you, but the comment XD! Anyway, so back to my previous problem… Do you guys want me to upload and complete Jabberjay, or the prequel, Come Morning Light first? Because honestly, I don't really care. If y'all don't care either, I can just continue on doing what I am doing, uploading chapters of each story at the same time. Once again, review or PM me, though preferably a review, and tell me what you want! So, I've been getting several PMs on the topic of this story. I beg you all, if you read this story, trust me, I LOVE getting PMs, really I do, but if you like the story, will you please review it, too? Thank you, thank you, thank you! I know this is a useless hope, but I'm hoping that one day I can get enough popularity on these stories that I can get Suzanne Collins to see it! I have absolutely no idea how that would ever happen, or if it's even possible, but I'm holding onto the hope of it happening! So, please give reviews! If you hate this story and abandon it before changing to the next chapter, please just review it and tell me what you think is wrong about it! If you like it, but it has several things you'd like me to change, then please review, and I'll delete the chapter, rewrite it the way you'd like it edited, and then upload it! If you love it, then please please PLEASE review! And by all means, please point out any mistakes I may make about the history of Panem or what happened after the war, because I haven't read Mockingjay in a couple of months, and my memory may be a bit faded. Please give me any mistakes in spelling, grammar, punctuation, or anything else you may find mistaken, and I promise that even for the smallest mistake, I will fix it! Thank you guys so much for reading, and keep checking back for more! I love you all, and may the odds be ever in your favor!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay folks, before you accuse me of abandoning this story (which I didn't do!), hear me out. I was busy. I had school, I had cheerleading, I had two other stories to catch up with… yeah, I couldn't get to it. And in the midst of all of that, my mom accidentally threw away my journal that I had this entire story written out in. So I had to completely re-write it from the beginning to the end. And it's a long story, thirty chapters long at least, so I had a lot to do. Please forgive me!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, however I do own my OCs.**

~Chapter 3~  
I'm laying on a wooden table with a hard, sticky cushion underneath with only a thin piece of tissue paper covering my body. No wait, correction: it's not even qualified under covering my body. The tissue paper is only concealing the top of my chest to the bottom of my private area.  
Strange people with green skin, red hair, and gold tattoos surround me. They are plucking my body's hair and trimming it in the uneven spots, cleaning my teeth until they hurt and placing white strips in my mouth, and clipping my fingernails and toenails. They can only be my prep team. They know me and have since I was only a small child. But I wouldn't know them, not having seen them in years.  
Then the excessive change being done to my body is stopped. I release a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Then one of the three Capitol citizens that make up my mother's old prep team steps in front of me. "Now, in a few moments you're going to be meeting your stylist!" Venia tells me. "His name is Dallas. He'll fix you ALL up, Maysilee!"  
"I'm not real sure I want him to," I grumble under my breath. I don't need to be styled; this isn't the Beauty Games, it's the Hunger Games. I honestly don't see the point in getting dressed up just so I can be killed in a few days. But if they want to make me their human Barbie doll, they can go right ahead.  
"What was that, dear?" Ocatvia asks.  
"Nothing!" I exclaim quickly. And my stupid prep team doesn't even question it. Venia and Flavius silently file out of the door, leaving me behind with Octavia.  
The green-skinned woman before me grabs a black hair tie from a drawer in her styling counter and ties back my hair in a loose ponytail. Then she speaks to me. "He'll by here in just a minute, sweetie."  
Then I'm left alone to think over these crazy Capitol people. I wonder how we must seem to them. I mean, they're much too colorful and crazy for my tastes, but in their eyes, wouldn't I be too colorless and dreary? Yes, that would explain the prep team's look of disgust when they first saw me.  
My thoughts are held off and stored in the back of my mind for later when a man, probably in his early to mid-twenties, walks in. He is wearing silver eyeliner on his top eyelids with dark blue mascara, both bringing out his blue eyes expertly. He has dark brown hair that is short and straight with only a few waves on the top of his head.  
"Hi, my name is Dallas, and I'll be your stylist," the man says with a smile. "Your name is Maysilee."  
He's quite obviously making a statement that's not open to correction, but I can't help it. "Maysi," I say. Not many people call me by my full name, and a week of hearing it would seriously throw me off.  
I squint at him through the sunlight streaming through the windows. "Okay, Maysi it is," Dallas replies, giving me a crinkly-eyed smile. He studies my face for a moment before continuing. "Look, I'm sure you're nervous about being here. Quite frankly, if I was in your place right now, I'd probably be terrified. But Maysi, I can assure you that everything is going to be fine under my watch."  
His grin creeps back onto his face again when he sees how much I relaxed at hearing this. That single facial expression undermined the true goodness of the man before me. He is kind, caring, and open. I guess that means not all of the Capitol people are bad.  
I somehow find myself unable to hold it in any longer, and let the inevitable smile spread across my lips back at him.

**A/N: REVIEW!**


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